Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  Julian nodded.

  ‘Ok - but not tonight, I’m knackered.’

  Julian looked at his watch. It was 4:55 a.m.

  ‘You won’t get a taxi at this time of night and I’m too tired to drive. You’ll have to stay the night.’ Erikson chuckled. ‘There’s the sofa or the spare bed we’ve just looked at or you could always sleep with me.’

  ‘I’ll be fine on the sofa.’

  Erikson laughed again. ‘I’ll get you some blankets.’ He came back with a pillow and two blankets. ‘Get some sleep. You look like you need it.’

  Julian rested with one eye open for the first hour but eventually crashed out and was woken by sounds from the kitchen. It was 10 a.m.

  Erikson came in with two mugs of coffee. He was fully dressed.

  He put one of the mugs on the table close to Julian. ‘I’ve got a busy day but I can give you a lift home.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘Yes, of course, I forgot - you don’t want me to see where you live.’

  ‘I just don’t want to inconvenience you but if you don’t mind, a lift would be good.’

  Julian had decided that letting Erikson see where he lived might instil some trust into the relationship but during the thirty minute drive, Erikson couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  ‘Julian, do you think you might be bisexual?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s just that you went to a boarding school from an early age.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘So, what are you – gay, bi or straight?’

  Julian made no comment.

  ‘Shall I tell you what I think? I think you don’t know - I think you’ve been fucking women for years but hidden away in your brain is that little doubt that you might not - just might not, be straight.’

  ‘Do you have to talk when you drive?’

  Erikson grinned. ‘No, I can be quiet.’ When he stopped the car outside Sussex House, he peered up at the windows. ‘Big house - what’s it like?’

  ‘It’s ok.’

  ‘When will I see you again?’

  ‘I’m out tonight but I’m not expecting it to be a late one. I’ll see you in the Coleherne before last orders.’

  CHAPTER 23

  Hyde Park Café, off Park Lane

  3 p.m. Wednesday 29 March

  Julian was early for his date with Lizzie. He was sitting at a table tucked away in a corner when she arrived.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘I can’t see any new bruises or cuts - have things calmed down now.’

  ‘A bit.’

  She gave him a suspicious look. ‘You’re lying.’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’

  ‘Apart from the truth, you mean.’

  A waitress came up to their table and they ordered tea and scones. When they were alone again, there was a strained silence between them.

  ‘Well?’ Julian asked.

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘You obviously want to get something off your chest - so say what you need to say.’

  She took a deep breath before answering. ‘Julian . . .’

  ‘That’s my name.’

  She gave him a cool look. ‘I’m really unhappy about you helping the police.’

  ‘But you know why I’m helping them.’

  ‘I know what they’ve told you - at least, I think I do unless you’ve missed bits out.’ She looked at him questioningly.

  He returned the look but said nothing.

  ‘Julian, I’d forgotten how irritating you can be. Please, think about this again. The police must know they’re putting you in danger and I don’t understand why they can’t put in one of their own undercover men or whatever they call them.’

  ‘They say they’ve tried but Erikson didn’t take the bait.’

  ‘There, that’s exactly my point. They’re using you as bait.’

  ‘Yes, they are - but I had already met Erikson before the police asked me to help. He remembers seeing Sam.’

  ‘Since he went missing?’

  ‘Just before, he claims that he saw Sam at the Coleherne.’

  ‘He claims? You don’t believe him?’

  ‘I did at first but the police have proof the he was with Sam somewhere else.’

  ‘What sort of proof?’

  ‘They showed me a photo of Erikson and Sam walking down a street a few days before he went missing.’

  ‘Where were they?’

  Julian hesitated. ‘Fulham Road, close to Erikson’s flat.’ He saw the look of horror on her face. ‘Lizzie, we need to stop talking about this.’

  ‘What if he’s got Sam in his flat?’

  ‘He hasn’t, I’ve been there.’

  Their tea and scones arrived and they waited for the waitress to leave.

  ‘Does Erikson have a criminal record?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Assault mainly.’

  ‘What d’you mean mainly?’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘If you don’t want to tell me it must be something bad.’

  Julian started to pour the tea. ‘How are you enjoying the time with your sister?’

  ‘I’m not - I’m worrying about you all the time.’ She placed her hand on his arm. ‘Promise me something - promise you won’t try to be a hero or anything silly like that.’

  ‘I’ll be doing everything I can to find Sam. If that puts me in a dangerous situation, silly or not, I’ll have to follow it through.’

  ‘I know – I know you will but just make sure you come back to me.’

  After leaving the café, Julian took her for a drive past St Mary’s and his parents’ flat in Kensington Garden Square. Finally he drove over to Sussex House and parked the mini outside.

  ‘This is my humble abode – d’you want to come in?’

  ‘I thought you said there was a rule about females in the rooms?’

  He grinned at her. ‘Rules are meant to be broken.’

  Inside the room with the door securely locked, the atmosphere was electric. Julian watched her as she walked slowly around the room. She looked at ease, relaxed even, whereas he was so nervous he was finding it hard to breathe.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Tea, coffee - something stronger?’

  She had been fingering the keys on his old typewriter and the light from the window held her in a silhouette with a halo of light around her chestnut hair. ‘Not for me but you go ahead.’

  He went into the kitchen and took a fresh bottle of whisky from the cupboard. When he poured some into a glass he saw a tremor in his hands and not for the first time wondered if that was nerves or too long without a drink. He emptied the glass and poured another before going back into the room.

  ‘Are you ok?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes - I’m fine. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because you look nervous.’

  He felt his face flush. ‘Sorry - it’s just . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry - I won’t get pregnant this time, I’m on the pill.’

  He stared at her, shocked by her words.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘of course I don’t want you to go.’

  She tilted her head to the side and gave him a secretive little smile, a familiar gesture he remembered from years ago. He was about to kiss her when she grabbed hold of his shirt and ripped it open. She kissed him hard enough to hurt his cut lip, and while they kissed, he tried to revive the memory of the sweet gentle girl who had walked out of his life all those years ago. She, however, seemed determined to show him how much she had changed. For a fleeting moment, he thought of slowing things down but made an instant decision not to make any move that could be interpreted as rejection. He needed this. He needed to lay this particular ghost to rest. When she was undoing his belt she suddenly stopped. It was like pulling the emergency cord on a train; everything came to a screeching halt.

  ‘You’re covered in bi
te marks and scratches.’ She stepped back. ‘I think I’ve just made a fool of myself.’

  ‘It’s not what you think.’

  She moved out of his reach. ‘I think it is - and really, it’s none of my business. You’re a bachelor and have every right to get your pleasures when and wherever - it’s me who’s in the wrong. I’m the married one.’ She picked up her bag and jacket. ‘Can you get me out of here without your landlady seeing?’

  ‘Lizzie, please don’t go like this.’

  ‘I think I must - I don’t know about you but I can’t risk breaking my heart again and we both know that’s the way it will go.’

  ‘No, please stay - we can talk.’

  She stared at him as if she was looking at a stranger but shrugged and sat down on the sofa.

  He picked up his ruined shirt and put a jumper on before going into the kitchen. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘I might as well – tea, please.’

  When he came back with her tea, she was reading through the information that Harriet had given him about the house. ‘No females except close relatives in the rooms,’ she read. ‘That’s a joke, it’s barely two weeks since you came to London and how many girls have you had in here?’

  He placed her tea on the coffee table and sat down next to her.

  ‘Are you going to answer my question?’

  ‘Can I plead the fifth amendment?’

  ‘I’m serious, Julian, how many?’

  He paused. ‘Not counting you - one.’

  ‘Is she the one who left you covered in bite marks?’

  ‘No, that was just some girl I walked past in the street.’

  She glared at him.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it - about her. It has nothing to do with you and me.’

  She looked at him with tears welling up in her eyes. ‘But it has - don’t you see, it’s a wakeup call - a reminder that we can’t turn the clock back.’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to turn the clock back, I was just . . . ’

  ‘Yes, you were - we both were but I’m not the girl you knew sixteen years ago and you are most definitely not the boy I knew.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Tell me about your girlfriend.’

  ‘Ok, I will if you tell me about your husband.’

  ‘This was such a bad idea.’ She slammed her mug of tea on the coffee table hard enough for it to splatter everywhere. ‘I’m going.’

  She stood up and walked in front of him to get her bag but he pulled her down onto his knee.

  ‘I can’t let you do that.’ He tipped her back onto the sofa, and pinned her down while he kissed her but instead of responding to his kiss there was a sob in her throat. He pulled back to see tears in her eyes.

  ‘Lizzie, I’m sorry.’ He was shocked by her reaction to what he thought had been a passionate and welcome kiss. ‘I thought you wanted . . .’

  ‘No, you didn’t think.’ She pushed him away and got to her feet. ‘That was always your problem.’ She put her jacket on. ‘I can find my own way out.’

  ‘At least, let me give you a lift.’

  ‘No, I’ll get a taxi.’

  He watched as she checked her face in a small mirror and applied lipstick. He was desperately trying to think of words that would persuade her to stay or at least forgive him. For what, he wasn’t sure but it was clear that there were bridges to mend somewhere down the line. He followed her out of the room and down the stairs, unable to let her walk out without at least an attempt at civility. When she opened the front door he held a hand out to stop it from fully opening.

  ‘Are we really going to say good-bye like this?’

  Her face was wet from tears as she pushed him out of the way. ‘Ring me if you have any news of Sam.’

  ‘Lizzie - please, don’t . . .’

  But she was out of the door before he finished speaking and all he could do was watch helplessly as she walked out onto Sussex Gardens. He shut the door and went back up to his room. From his window he could see her waiting on the corner of Sussex Place for a taxi. He kept his eyes on her until tears blurred his vision and when he had wiped them away and his sight was regained, she was gone.

  CHAPTER 24

  For the rest of the afternoon Julian tried to bury himself in Buddy Holly and whisky, much like an ostrich buries his head in the sand. While he was under cover, he tried to make sense of the disastrous scene played out that afternoon.

  For the first couple of hours he blamed Charlotte, because without the marks on his body from her teeth and nails everything would have been fine but when he remembered Lizzie’s behaviour just before she saw the marks, he realized that for him it wouldn’t have been what he had longed for all those years. She was very different from the young girl he had loved and from her negative comments before she left, she thought that he had definitely changed for the worse. Eventually, he managed to convince himself that they were different people now and Lizzie had been right; it simply wouldn’t work.

  Now, as the clock marched forward, he was dreading his evening date with Harriet. He thought of cancelling it, saying he was unwell but from what he knew of Harriet that would lead to her attempting to nurse him. His other thought was to pretend he had forgotten. He could go over to Charlotte’s and have a pleasant evening with her . . . pleasant evening . . . he thought about that again . . . is that your libido talking . . . is that what Lizzie was referring to with her derogatory comments . . . your sex drive? Anyway, with or without Lizzie’s point of view, he knew it would be unfair to use Charlotte as a bolt-hole. He cringed at the unintended Freudian slip. Basically, he was in a mess and probably of his own choosing. He now had three women in his life and none of the relationships were working well, though perhaps he should revise that to three women and one man.

  At 7:30 p.m. when he was coming out of the bathroom, he heard the phone ringing in the hall. He was down the stairs in time to pick it up.

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’ Lizzie said.

  He tried not to build his hopes up. There was a brief silence.

  ‘I want to apologise for my behaviour earlier,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t fair to pick on you - I think for me there was too much pressure to make it perfect.’

  ‘I’m not sure it can ever be perfect again.’

  ‘Really?’ She sounded disappointed. ‘Have you had second thoughts about us?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking a lot since you left - it was hard not to.’

  ‘I was going to ask if you wanted to meet up for lunch tomorrow – but perhaps you wouldn’t want to now.’

  He had a voice inside his head screaming at him . . . this isn’t the time to prevaricate . . . just say YES.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes?’ She sounded dismayed.

  ‘No - I mean, yes, I do want to.’

  ‘Good – how about the café again, in Hyde Park – shall we say one o’clock?’

  ‘Yes, that’s good for me - see you then.’ He listened to her hang up and looked up to the heavens. ‘Thank you, God - I’ll never doubt you again.’

  * * *

  He was dressed and ready for his date with Harriet at 7:55 p.m. and with trepidation he made his way downstairs. He had a five minute wait in the hall before Harriet came down the stairs wearing a glittery turquoise evening dress. She looked surprisingly attractive.

  ‘Good evening, Julian.’

  ‘Good evening - you look lovely.’

  She gave him a radiant smile. ‘Thank you.’

  He opened the front door for her and stood aside for her to pass; getting in the car required similar etiquette.

  ‘Do you know whereabouts in Soho the restaurant is?’

  ‘Brewer Street,’ she said. ‘Are you familiar with the area?’

  ‘Yes, a little - I’m sure I can find it.’

  He parked the car in a side road just a few feet away from the restaurant. The table Harriet had reserved was on a raised area about halfway down the restaurant w
hich gave them a good view of the dance floor. The menu was extensive but there were no prices.

  ‘Have you any idea what you’d like?’ Julian asked her.

  She shook her head. ‘There’s so much to choose from. I’ll let you order for me, I’m sure whatever you choose will be delicious.’

  For some reason, Charlotte came into Julian’s thoughts while he was looking at the menu. He could imagine her reaction if he had even suggested ordering for her, she would probably have accused him of being sexist and kicked him under the table. Her feistiness could be unattractive or a real turn-on, depending on his mood. He doubted Lizzie would be totally happy about it either especially after their last encounter. Harriet, however, was unlike any woman he had met before. She had a way of making a man feel really small one minute and masterful the next.

  ‘So tell me a bit about yourself - you said you used to be a nurse the other day.’

  ‘Yes, I trained at St Mary’s. Unfortunately, I couldn’t work for long as a qualified nurse because I had to leave to nurse my mother who had cancer, and then my father had a stroke the following year.’

  ‘Did you ever think of going back to it?

  ‘I did for a while - I worked at a private nursing home but I found it depressing with patients dying or on their way out from some devastating disease. It made me want to speed up their deaths to reduce their suffering.’

  ‘I met your brother the day I moved in – he looks so much like you.’

  ‘We’re twins actually and are naturally very close. He lives on the top floor and does all the maintenance and gardening. If you need anything doing in your room just leave a note for him on the hall table.’

  ‘That reminds me, there are some letters on the hall table for Michael from last week,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if he was away.’

  She hesitated ‘Yes, I meant to tell you. He’s moved out – he said he was going to stay with an aunt in Australia. Apparently, she’s very ill and wants to see him - sent him the money for his flight, I believe. I’ll have to send his post on to him. He’s such a lonely young man. I think it will be good for him to be with family.’ She reached across the table to touch his hand. ‘You seem a bit lonely here as well. Have you any friends in London?’